


The Scarf

by dirtydeedsdonedirtcheap



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: HPFT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 15:40:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7367563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtydeedsdonedirtcheap/pseuds/dirtydeedsdonedirtcheap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's wearing a scarf. It's blue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Scarf

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling created Harry Potter so anything you recognize belongs to that wonderful woman. Now, everything else comes from my deluded brain.

** The Scarf **

She’s wearing a scarf.

 

It’s blue.

 

Bloody hell. He’s touching her scarf. He’s touching her scarf. He’s…I think I’ve made my point.

 

The referee releases the Quidditch balls and I’m faintly watching Harry and Ron shake hands just as the bludgers shoot up into the sky. It’s odd seeing the two of them on different teams but we’re supposed to be teaching the kids something about unity. I can’t remember what exactly because he’s touching her bleeding scarf and now she’s _giggling_.

 

I’m a Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I should not be using such foul language even if it is in my head. I should be paying attention to my students (especially this one first year Hufflepuff boy who reminds me of myself at a young age—clumsy). I should _not_ be glaring at Luna Lovegood and I should _not_ want to curse Rolf Scamander with every fiber of my being.

 

I’m going to hex him if it’s the last thing I do.

 

“Neville!” A voice shouts angrily. “You’re supposed to be commenting on the game, comment already!”

 

It’s Hermione, there’s a nervous edge to her voice as if she really doesn’t want to yell at me. She wouldn’t dare boss me around since I’m a Professor now.

 

(Did I mention that? Newly appointed.)

 

I’m still _just_ Neville to her and since Ron is her husband I can’t blame her for getting all ‘Head Girl,’ on me.

 

I’m going to hex him. Stupid Rolf.

 

“Right! Sorry! _ON THE GRYFFINDOR TEAM WE’VE GOT HARRY POTTER RESUMING HIS POSITION AS SEEKER, GINNY POTTER, HIS WIFE—BLOODY HELL!”_

“Neville!” Hermione shouts with horror, shaking an angry finger at me.

 

I don’t even bother saying anything. I _could_ say something about her bushy hair that is standing up because of the harsh wind or mock her for the awful S.P.E.W jumper she’s wearing (that doesn’t even fit properly because she made it years ago when she was a student, makes her look lopsided honestly) but I’m Neville. I’m the nice bloke who doesn’t—

 

_Merlin_. Now he’s tickling her side. Rolf Scamander is going to be the death of me.

 

It’s not fair you know. I was once in his position. I once got to hug Luna Lovegood in the cold to keep her warm. I used to meet her for lunches in the park and listen to her talk about fuzzy whats-its and man-eating-somethings.

 

I once got to hold her hand.

 

You can’t blame me for being just a _little_ peeved that she’s seeing someone else. I didn’t even know there was trouble between the two of us or the fact that we had _apparently_ broken up and decided to see other people. Then again, _maybe_ I never actually said out loud how I felt about her.

 

Maybe I never actually kissed her or got to tickle her side. Maybe we never dated. I suppose dating in my dreams doesn’t count.

 

“Neville,” Hermione says with annoyance, “if you’re not going to comment on the game, what’s the point then?” She questions, tugging at her blue Ravenclaw hat and then rewrapping her red Gryffindor scarf around her neck. “Don’t tell me you’re staring at Luna _again_.”

 

I don’t say anything but quickly avert my eyes, not wanting to see the lewd public display of affection. Instead, I look at my students who are mesmerized by the game they hadn’t even noticed my outburst. Good, because with Professor McGonagall—I mean _Hermione_ —at my side, I’ll never hear the end of it.

 

“Neville, you’re a great catch and there are plenty of other available—“ She says, trailing on to name all of my redeemable qualities.

 

There aren’t many. She has already repeated two twice. I’m honestly pathetic.

 

I should be focusing on the crystal blue sky. It’s a perfect day for a Quidditch match. Especially for the event I had planned out, a game between the heroes of the Second War. Something we could enjoy that would teach the students about unity, sacrifice and what it was like to be on the same team (or opposing).

 

McGonagall of all people is playing in the game. Her grey bun is wrapped tightly on her head as she shakily flies through the sky, beating bludger after bludger. Apparently back in the day she was an excellent Quidditch player.

 

She has a strong arm for such an old skinny woman but I’m still afraid that a strong wind will send her flying right off her broom.

 

I obviously hadn’t thought this through.

 

“ _AND MCGONAGALL SLAMS A BLUDGER RIGHT INTO POOR SPROUT! I’M PRETTY SURE THAT’S A FOUL!”_ I say, finally making a comment on the game.

 

Hermione narrows her brown eyes at me, grumbling under her breath. Hex me, I know nothing about Quidditch. I had originally asked Flitwick to be the commentator but he too is stuck on a broom, shakily flying around without a care in the world.

 

He’s not even _trying_ to block the Quaffle from entering the golden hoops. Instead, he’s high fiving the opposite team for their job well done as his emerald green Quidditch robes glitter in the sun and his yellow Ravenclaw hat slips down over his eyes.

 

I don’t even know who’s on which team. I’m not sure there _are_ two teams. I really shouldn’t have suggested every player wear a color from each house, it’s confusing.

 

“He keeps touching her scarf…Hermione, surely that’s enough to send him to Azkaban?” I pathetically question her.

 

She groans and momentarily takes her eyes off of the game. I know she wants to open the book that’s hidden inside her satchel but Merlin forbid Ron scores and she misses it.

 

“He’s her _boyfriend_. He has every right to touch Luna’s scarf. Quite frankly it’s none of your business.”

 

I sigh as Aberforth Dumbledore swings his bat at a bludger nearly offing McGonagall who is teetering on her Firebolt with a care free expression on her face.

 

“This was a bad idea.”

 

“Oh,” Hermione begins snootily, “now you realize that you’re sending our beloved retired Professors and friends to their graves.”

 

“Not that,” I retort sharply. “I should be sitting between them. I should…get the sword of Gryffindor and challenge Rolf to a duel or a sword fight.”

 

Hermione groans and smacks her hand to her head. The crowd cheers as Blaise Zabini throws the Quaffle into the hoops, scoring for his team (I’m not sure which one he’s on. He refused to wear any house colors besides green). I don’t know why I asked him to play. He’s not even a war hero, more like a nuisance.

 

“Don’t be stupid Neville,” Hermione says, breaking my train of thought. “What happened to your courage?”

 

It vanished the moment Luna Lovegood innocently looked into my brown eyes and told me she wanted me to meet her new boyfriend.

 

He’s still playing with her blue Ravenclaw scarf. He even flicks a radish earring that dangles on her ears. Her cheeks redden slightly but she doesn’t push him away.

 

It’s inappropriate I tell you. They’re practically shagging in the stands.

 

Doesn’t she know I love her?

 

“I have no courage. I have no confidence— _KEEP YOUR SHIRT ON SLUGHORN!_ ” I shout. Hermione and I both cringe and the students shriek with terror as the curly grey chest hair of Slughorn becomes visible.

 

“Enough! Just move _over_!” She commands, pushing me out of the way.

 

I don’t fight back. Instead, I shift and make room for her, not bothering to apologize to whomever I’m knocking into as Hermione starts to loudly comment on the game.

 

I need a plan. I need to be Neville, the Neville at the final battle who confronted Voldemort and received the sword of Gryffindor from the Sorting Hat. I need to be the Neville who laughed when Snape appeared as my boggart wearing Gran’s vulture hat.

 

I need to be _brave_.

 

Quietly, I eye Luna and Rolf, determined more than ever to put a stop to their relationship. I’m going to declare my love for her right here. I’ll shout it for of all my students, the faculty and my friends to hear.

 

Luna Lovegood will push Rolf out of the way. She’ll shout back that she loves me too and take off her Ravenclaw scarf because it has been infected with Scamander germs. I will get to finger all her scarves from now on. The smooth cotton will hug my fingers. I will get to tickle her side and flick her radish earrings gently.

 

“ _CAN YOU JUST FIND THE SNITCH ALREADY!”_ Hermione shouts with aggravation next to me.

 

Where am I again? Oh right, the Quidditch match.

 

Ignoring the game (and Hermione), I slowly rise from my seat, my eyes not losing sight of Luna. This is it. This is my moment. It’s now or never.

 

Clearing my throat and pointing my wand at my neck, I’m ready to whisper ‘ _sonorous’_ so I can be heard by all but then something strange happens.

 

Something so wonderfully extraordinary that I lose sight of what I’m about to do and instead laugh as the students all begin to whisper in shock and the Professors all rush from their seats. Luna doesn’t even flinch next to Rolf. Instead of actually helping him she’s picking at his ‘aura’ for spirits or something.

 

Rolf Scamander stands next to her, pointing at his currently stuffed nose that is playing house to the golden snitch that is fluttering its wings, trying to dig itself deeper up his nostril. He’s shouting, flapping his arms in the air with a terrified expression etched on his face.

 

I’m not the only one that is chuckling (Hermione is shrieking near me), the woman next to me is in hysterics, clutching her side, blue eyes filled with glee. Her face is turning redder by the second.

 

“Did you see his r-reaction? Merlin!” She howls, tears spilling from her eyes. She gulps, embarrassed by her outburst and turns a deeper shade of red, giving me a look. “I’m sorry Neville. I just…you wouldn’t stop _staring_ and the conversation between you and Hermione was just…well, you weren’t exactly _whispering_.”

 

I grin. My eyes fall on Rolf again, Harry is shoving his fingers up Rolf’s nose and fighting off Blaise with his other free hand.

 

“You did that? Hannah Abbott, I would have never guessed.”

 

She smiles, it reaches her eyes and they aren’t exactly blue, no, blue doesn’t do her eyes justice. They remind me of the sea, of crystal clear water that you jump into head first on a sweltering day.

 

“I’m just full of surprises,” she says with a laugh. “But if anyone asks he’s just a really _big_ fan of Quidditch.”

 

I grin, my eyes falling on her neck.

 

She’s wearing a scarf.

 

It’s yellow.

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: This is my attempt at a one-shot. I’ve never actually written one before. This is for JRose’s ‘Things I’m Not Allowed To Do At Hogwarts Challenge.’ My challenge was: ‘I will not enchant the Golden Snitch to fly up the nearest fan's nose.’


End file.
